Give Me Some Sugar
by Cornonjacob
Summary: Due to a coincidence and the probable omnipotence of Claude, Lysithea fails to suppress her hormones for the last time and goes hog wild. Resolving to make up for lost time and to make the most of the time she has left, Lysithea indulges in the sauciest of vices at Garreg Mach.
1. Part One: White Clouds

Lysithea found herself at Garreg Mach's library, staring curiously at an unfamiliar title nestled in the top shelves that had come with the newest shipment of books. What had caught her eye was the fact that the book was clearly a romance novel, and a sultry one from what she could see of its spine. It was quite noticeable among the library's collection as Seteth was normally so vigilant in preventing what he would view as illicit literature from entering the library. Perhaps he was still recovering from the shock of Flayn's kidnapping and rescue, and had made an error.

Nevertheless, Lysithea wanted that fucking book. The young mage's insatiable curiosity had been piqued. Additionally, the spicy tingling in her loins that teenagers have that makes them dumb as shit was urging her to grab the novel and retreat to her room posthaste. Alas, she was not tall enough to ride, and she spent about five minutes looking like a dumbass, straining to reach the shelf clearly out of her reach while one of the library ladders was only a few meters away. Hormones do that to people.

Suddenly, thunderous applause and studio laughter could be heard, startling Lysithea and everyone else enjoying independent reading time. Claude had entered the library.

"Hey squirt, isn't it past your bedtime?" the house leader greeted Lysithea at around four in the afternoon, "Now don't get _short_ with me, but nobody will think _little_ of you if you take a break. Don't you think you're studying too hard a _tiny_ bit? I have some things I need to get done, but I'll do you a _small_ favor and carry your books, it's the right thing to do as the _bigger _person. Also you're short, fuck you, you baby."

"Claude, you insufferable- so help me if you treat me like a child again, I'll cum!" she blurted out, growing thirstier by the second and fixating on Claude. To be fair, she couldn't really be blamed.

In the next 1.43 seconds, Lysithea's genius yet inexplicably horny mind explosively overclocked to correct her blunder, even as the words were leaving her lips. Before Claude's face could settle into an expression of either confusion, amusement, or horror, his classmate spoke again.

"I'll come-come for you with my m-magic!" she finished, barely straight-faced and fast enough to plausibly appear as indignant rather than licentious.

It appeared as if Claude was going to probe her further, but suddenly the tolling of a bell could be heard and the sky darkened. Somewhere in Garreg Mach, the Professor had used all his activity points and ended the day.

"It has been immensely draining talking to you Claude," she said to her house leader, "but it's late and I must be going."

Lysithea scuttled out of the library and toward her dorm as swift as the coursing river, which Claude just attributed to her fear of ghosts. Then she was accosted by Raphael who was in big brother mode.

"Hey Lysithea! Where are you going!? Want me to carry you!?" He bellowed.

The white-haired girl clenched everything, her usual irritation at The Big Man replaced by desire, "O-onii-chan..." she gasped under her breath as she broke out into a full sprint so he wouldn't notice her arousal.

Raphael walked at a brisk pace and caught up in seconds. He scooped her up and perched her on his shoulder.

"Woah! Here come the stairs!" exclaimed the humongoid as he galumphed down the steps, fortunately too stupid to notice how his passenger ground her core against his shoulder with the motion, nor her breath, which was becoming shorter than she was.

"Ah! Raphael, Lysithea, hello!" A meek yet happy voice greeted the two. It was Ignatz, diligently and deftly painting Portrait of the Goddess #538.

"Hey buddy!" Raphael bellowed like an excitable golden retriever while setting Lysithea down, "We were just heading to the dining hall, gotta eat while the getting's good, right!?"

As the friends began conversing about inconsequential bullshit, Lysithea inconspicuously walked away, gritting her teeth. Even Ignatz, whom she normally held in low regard, even scorn, was stirring up her perverse appetites by existing. The bespectacled boy was cute in his own way and her imagination was further deteriorating her self-control. The young mage balled her fists, tensing up as she thought of his fingers, so finesse in painting, and what they could do. She admired his gentle and soft hands, and how they would look folded on his knee like the Mona Lisa. _Killer_ by Yugo Kanno played as she daydreamed about suckling on his digits. Lysithea almost didn't care that she was almost at her dorm, at this point she would drag off the next man she saw for breeding.

Lorenz galloped on a gallant steed to his fellow noble's side, smiling winningly, "Greetings Lysithea, might I-"

"Eat shit, Lorenz," Lysithea retorted, "fall off your horse!"

"OK," Purple Boy replied, crying, pissing his pants, and also shitting and cumming.

* * *

The instant that Lysithea shut the door to her room, she immediately self-cast Miasma to incinerate her clothes and began to furiously stroke her white-tufted quim.

"HNNNNNNNNGH," she moaned with much throatiness, but her dainty digits were inadequate. Her fingers were too small and delicate, and her vagina was so very large and hard.

While I was looking up synonyms for the moist female genitals, Lysithea reached under her bed and grabbed Thyrsus. She remembered the day she had acquired the staff fondly. Lorenz had finally won his father's approval and acquired the Gloucester Relic. The noble that he is, he gallantly gave the prize to their beloved professor...who immediately turned around and gave it to her. She still relished the crushed look on Lorenz's face as she produced a big red marker and wrote her name on the Relic. Then she proceeded to do the same to the professor, claiming both as her own and effectively shutting Purple Boy out of the class dynamic.

Anyway, Lysithea was doing the pussy poke with the staff so hard that now we have to call it Thrustyrsus. On top of increasing her magic attack range by two tiles, she also used it to increase the range of how deep she could fuck herself.

"Oh yes! This is successful self-gratification!" she screamed and writhed on her bed, one hand jerking the staff in and out, the other hand twiddling with the nipples on her double-crest flat chest. Her orgasm was on a one way trip to Flavortown, pushing closer to the edge as she imagined being caressed by her classmates, cramming a cheesecake up her asshole, and all of the dicks she had seen in her short life, which was less than one. Thrustyrsus was reaching impossibly deep, chipping away at her as it brushed her Bean and sending a jolt of pleasure each time it jabbed her prostate.

Squealing like a jar of angry balloons, she pissed the horny juice. "I-I AM ARRIVING!" she sang like a proud member of the Mittelfrank Opera Company, firing in spurts with direction and magnitude, legs spread like peanut butter, toes curling, also like peanut butter. As the last of the fresh slicky dribbled out of Lysithea's old scratch in a Fibonacci sequence over the sheets, her mind emptied of everything but pleasure and a comforting male voice.

"Part One: White Clouds," it said.

That was when Lysithea acknowledged what she had experienced. Lamenting that she had not entered the world of carnal delights sooner, she resolved that in the short time she had left in the world of the living, she would explore her delightful buttery body. She pulled Thrustyrsus out, brushing her rock solid clit which made a sound like the first chords of the Seinfeld theme. Then she snorted several grams of pure refined sugar cane to restore her energy.

Her eyes drifted to her desk, at which her Armored Bear Stuffy named Obama sat, a gift from Professor Byleth. Thoughts of her beloved professor just got her Soft & Wet, stealing the friction from her critchety crotch butterscotch. This is a cool literary technique called 「Foreshadowing」, in which Lysithea's impurest of thoughts of her professor hint to the reader that she and Byleth are going to bone later in this chapter, which happens.

Somewhere between being the biggest thot in the galaxy and having a glucose overdose, Lysithea's newest and dumbest idea was formulated, as if her thoughts were full of Worcestershire sauce. She was now on her desk, straddling Obama.

"Don't stop! Keep it coming!" she cried out, humping Obama as she imagined getting railed and impaled by the professor, of him pouring his baby batter into her ovulation oven so they could bake a goddamn child, and of him holding her hand and taking her out to the nice little bakery that she liked. Obama sat there and looked disappointed.

Stimulating herself in a haze of fantasies, Lysithea's slit was nearing another critical hit when she heard the rapid pounding of footsteps, preceding the sound of someone barging into her room. It was Professor Byleth, on the hunt for those Lost Items and Owl Feathers.

"P-professor!?" Lysithea screeched, pushing Obama away in embarrassment, who promptly bounced off the wall and fell, stewing on the floor in girl nectar and betrayal.

"Ha ha lol," Hilda chuckled at her horny housemate from out in the hallway.

"..." said the professor, making a sound like a deck of pancakes slapping onto syrup as his enormous beaver basher flopped out of his pantaloons and transitioned to hard. Byleth began to do The Floss so vigorously that his clothes came off, then gelled and bleached his hair to accommodate Lysithea's fetish for frosted tips as they reminded her of cake frosting. Finally, he materialized a dozen Tasty Baked Treats, cramming them down Lysithea's throat one by one.

"Professor," Lysithea moaned huskily, laying on her back on the desk and tearing her legs open invitingly like a bag of corn chips, "I need you inside me."

"Let the lesson begin!" Byleth roared as he took hold of his student's shoulders and fucked her in Maddening mode. It was unbearably tight, and he was reminded of the time last week when he was trying to get the last few Pringles out of the tube but his hand got stuck.

"AAÄÄAÖEOÖÖUÜUIIÜEA!" Lysithea bellowed in ecstasy and all five vowels as she was penetrated. Her eyes rolled back as blood seeped from her demolished hymen, signalling that her professor had chosen the Crimson Flower route. She shook uncontrollably as all the sugar she had consumed took effect, the vibrations making the Professor Peen feel even better as it pumped in and out of her twat.

Regaining some of her faculties, Lysithea's pink eyes met her professor's, and the utterly bored expression on his face as he pounded her harder than mashed potatoes made her ball her little fists and clamp her teeth in one part indignation, three parts arousal. Despite her efforts, louder and louder moans and gasps escaped her as she was fucked. Lysithea is fifteen years old, and if you have an erection right now, I get to call the police. The staccato sound of Byleth's balls slapping against his student's cervix filled the room, accompanied by Lysithea's cries whenever her teacher accidentally hit her seminal vesicle. Suddenly, the professor leaned down so that their faces were inches apart, violating her personal space.

"How do you like the lesson, Lysithea?" he breathed sensually.

"I love it! I want to learn like this every day!" she growled, her pussy nearing big time rush.

"Would you say you're feeling motivated to do some private tutoring with me?" he groaned in response.

"Goddess, yes! I couldn't be more motivated!"

"OK, great, I'm getting close to unlocking your budding talent in swords," the professor said as he pulled his cock out and walked towards the door, "I'll see you on Monday, bye."

Lysithea just lay there in disbelief that she got blue-balled like that, and now she had postpartum depression. Flopping off the desk, she clutched Obama and crawled to her bed, exhausted by the orgasmless ordeal. She swore that she would fully fornicate tomorrow as well as claim vengeance on Hilda for her earlier mockery. This is another instance of 「Foreshadowing」 that shows my vast intellect. As consciousness left her, Lysithea decided that chewing bubblegum in bed could be a fun experience.

To be continued


	2. Part Two: The Third Bomb

"Excuse me, could you do me a favor? I need you to get the professor to cancel class." Hilda commanded one of her slaves.

"As you know, I am always delighted to aid you, Hilda," Lorenz said, staring intently at his fellow noble's feet, "but this is no paltry task."

"Aww shucks, you drive a hard bargain, Lorenz. How about a reward for a handsome helper?" She replied, brandishing a canteen of her used bathwater. Purple Boy's bloodshot eyes wrenched upwards, filled with undisguised hunger and mildew. Three thousand years of spider crabs raised their tendrils in unison as the Gloucester blood rushed in a downward spiral towards the Purple Boy Peen, the member curving upwards with force like a snaking baseball thrown by a star pitcher trying to sucker punch God.

Lorenz's objective was clear. By consuming several servings of Honeyed-Fruit Blend tea, Lorenz gave himself crippling diarrhea, allowing about thirty seven seconds before his bowels ruptured. Making his way to the empty Golden Deer classroom while Byleth was away selling several solid gold bars to the Eastern Merchant, Lorenz stood on the professor's desk with immaculate posture befitting a noble and let loose an unearthly howl as he demolished its surface with a ten second Bloody Stream of shit, muddy ridges rippling with quadrilateral force, congregating where the parallel lines of destiny intersect. The fertile shit stirred with life underneath the turd tornado until after an age, Lorenz, the audacious mother of Shittopia, finally felt his sphincter grow flaccid. It was truly a Gold Experience. Only now did he fully comprehend the cardinal sin he had just committed, and he fled like the Devil. In this moment, Lorenz was euphoric. Not because of any phony goddess' blessing. But because he was enlightened by his intelligence.

When she came back to the desecration, Byleth had no choice but to cancel instruction for the day, which was quite an inconvenience for all related parties, in particular that of her brother, Byleth, who had been planning to unlock Lysithea's budding talent in swords. Lorenz enjoyed his Goneril Girl Bathwater while Hilda enjoyed her now free day doing e-thot things as she is wont to, unaware that this setback to the Eisner twin's instructional plans obstructed their ability to build favorable relationships among select noble houses of Enbarr by proxy, initiating a butterfly effect that would later lead to the installment of a fascist dictatorship in Brigid and further destabilization in the Sreng peninsula.

None of this was relevant. Lysithea stood on her tiptoes directly behind Hilda like some asshole truck driver tailgating someone when they're already ten miles per hour above the speed limit, running her fingers through her housemate's pink pigtails, loudly and uncomfortably doing a big sniff of her perfume. She sighed in contentment, Hilda smelled like candy and stupidity with a hint of floral and she wanted her even more now.

"MMM, Hilda," the young mage purred, caressing Hilda's hands from behind while nuzzling into her neck, "You have such sexy nails, they make me think of sex."

"Uh...thanks?" Hilda gingerly replied, trying to make make like a tree and get the fuck out of there.

"And I must say," Lysithea continued, her touch trailing down, "these thighs of yours are immaculate."

"Lysithea please, I need to...collect my laundry!"

"Perhaps I should launder your pussy with my face."

"Lysithea, what's the matter with you!?" Hilda shouted, pushing the younger girl off. "You sound like Lorenz!"

"Speaking of Lorenz, I bet he's partaking in the water I saw you give him," she retorted, "I'm particularly curious about why you did that. He may have drank some earlier today, as something must have made him ill in our homeroom. Whatever the case, I'm certain our professors would be disappointed if someone told them what transpired."

As Hilda froze up, Lysithea stood there short and smug. Gloating internally, she continued, "We shouldn't gossip about our peers and teachers out here like this. Continuing this conversation in your room would be most convenient, don't you agree?"

* * *

"Please be gentle, I'm a delicate flower you know," Hilda gasped out while writhing bare on the bed as her housemate straddled and played with her. Lysithea was kneading her partner's labia (which has the most nerve endings in the human female's body), the slit slickening in a sickening way.

"So sensitive, and so inviting," Lysithea chuckled like Sonic but not Knuckles.

The mage pushed a finger into her friend with one hand while groping her unreasonably large titties in the other, nibbling and sucking on the erect nipples, tasting and teasing Hilda's teats that Stand Proud.

"Goddess, they're so soft and sweet," Lysithea huffed seductively. "They're like the cake I had before I ate the cake and then I didn't have the cake," she continued, considerably less seductively.

Hilda stifled a moan as she felt another finger slither into her delicate flower. Tremors ran through her as Lysithea plunged the digit in, moving faster to crescendo the creaming. To and fro the fingers rubbed her walls like pieces of jerky, or a Quim Jim if you will.

"Who's laughing now?" the white haired woman mocked, verbally pissing all over Hilda and also laughing at her.

Hilda was not laughing. She was having a hernia from cumming too hard, emptying her ovaries and spraying semen all over the sheets. It was as if she had spilled milk, and Hilda was crying about it. And she was also moaning. Hilda was loud as fuck. I'm not going to type out the noise she made because it's three in the morning and I don't want to wake up my neighbors.

"Hilda! A-are you all right!?" called a concerned voice from the door shortly before it opened, revealing Marianne.

The bluenette stood there in shock, hands covering her mouth and literally shaking right now.

"Marianne! This isn't what it looks-" Hilda wailed.

"This is exactly what it looks like," Lysithea countered, "Your Goneril is gone. She's my bitch now."

Marianne, who just wanted to live a quiet life, clutched her dress and wept. As her face stained, so did Lysithea's crotch.

"Close the door, cuckold," Lysithea commanded with an S+ rank in Authority, and so Marianne obeyed. We now embark on a blackmail netorare story, a timeless yet awful classic.

* * *

Sitting at the edge of the bed, Lysithea's Lady Lasagna was being ministered by a kneeling Hilda and her facehole. With a firm grip on the older girl's pigtails, Lysithea pulled her classmate's head even further into Groin City while making direct eye contact with Marianne.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Marianne? I am your god now."

Though unable to look away, Marianne continued to whimper softly, which made me feel terrible.

"It is my opinion that Hilda deserves better, someone who isn't such a blue beta who feels bad for existing. Do you really think someone so pathetic like you deserves anything nice?" Lysithea mocked, power tripping and laughing at Marianne's tears.

"Gonna cry?" She continued sadistically. "Gonna piss your pants maybe? Maybe shit and cum?"

Hilda drew back as the grip on her hair relaxed, gasping for air. "Lysithea," she coughed out, "Why does your pussy taste like Professor Byleth's dick?"

Upon hearing this latest bullshit, Marianne's mind did a brisk jog to the conclusion that everyone was fucking Hilda except for her, and it was tired from running. She was a cement mixer of turmoil and emotions, raw and wet and completely ruined, as if some child put their hand in it after it was poured out of Marianne's face. A cold wrath dwelled in the depths of her brittle heart, the osteoporosis of the arteries cracking with resentment. She felt hurt and betrayed that Hilda had done this, like what Caspar felt that time last week when Hilda had taken Caspar's last slice of pizza. It was like that and measurably worse, except that Marianne was Caspar which kind of makes sense because they both have blue hair and are total bottoms and Hilda was the slice of pizza that was stolen, except it was like Hilda had taken and eaten herself in front of Marianne who was Caspar by proxy which was kind of surreal as the only thing Hilda was eating was Lysithea's buttery gâteau pussy garnished by Byleth's ham-boner, and Lysithea got to have her pizza and fuck it too and then laugh at Marianne for not getting to fuck the pizza she was dating, which is Hilda. A deep-seated grief in the belief that she was cursed, that Lysithea was right that she wasn't worthy of happiness, that this unspeakable thing had happened to the woman she loved because of her and her Crest. Finally, bubbling to the surface, Marianne experienced a disgusting arousal towards what she thought she knew. Deep inside, she enjoyed not having control, being pushed by the tidal whims of others, and being humiliated. She was full of an ugly longing for what she couldn't have, all in the context of a good gay diddling. Her tears refused to stop coming and so did she, an orgasm ripping through her urethra as she uncontrollably and unconsciously touched herself as the world's saddest and second horniest moans escaped from her howling thrussy.

The game had just gotten infinitely more interesting for Lysithea, who used Warp to move Hilda two tiles away so that she was on top of Marianne where she fucking belonged. She approached from behind and grabbed the backs of her classmate's heads, forcing them to kiss, which gave Hilda a minor concussion.

"Is this what you wanted Marianne? You had better get used to my taste since leftovers are all you deserve," she gurgled with derision, pulling them apart and palming Marianne's double-jointed vagina with the hand that had been grasping Hilda.

"Goodness, it's a mess down here," she jeered, wiping her juice-soaked hand on Marianne's face, "like a shitty lasagna a small child insisted on helping you make that looks like shit! If you want more Hilda Time, you need to make me happy too. Make me ejaculate elegantly, and make it snappy!" she yelped while having a stroke.

Sweet sweet Marianne, so shy and afraid to get close with others, rarely went to Garreg Mach's dining hall, much less visited a restaurant in town. In fact, she usually cooked for herself or even had food delivered to her room. But now, with her face buried in her mistress' flaccid vulva, she was definitely eating out.

Hilda got on the floor without walking the dinosaur and vigorously scissored her girlfriend while she was busy serving their tormentor. Nobody had ever seen anything like it, ever. The trio was fucking with the passion and depravity of the ancients, and Hilda kept grinding faster. Then, she got even faster. Hilda was too fast for her own good. Hilda was grinding and thrusting her pussy against Marianne's at 105 decibels, which is said to be the fastest that humans can fuck, and then she fucked even faster. Then one day, she got even faster, so very fast that she was no longer fucking as fast as she could in the time she had, time was accelerating to keep pace with her. Time sped up as the party approached a climax Made in Heaven. And then Hilda got even faster, so fucking fast that everyone else at Garreg Mach got even faster.

Like the true friends they were, they came together. Marianne screamed into her mistress' thighs, the vibrations reverberating through her tiny body and coming out her mouth like a gay ass trumpet. It still sounded like Marianne, even when spurts of Lysithea's sugary sweet cum and piss rocketed out of the fifteen year old girl's Purple Hibiscus (by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie) and into her mouth like a rubber chicken held under a faucet. This is where Things Fall Apart.

"Neigh! Neigh neigh horse noise whinny!?" noised a concerned horse from the door shortly before it opened, revealing Dorte the horse.

The horse stood there in shock, hooves covering his mouth and also literally shaking the Rainbow Dash Cum Jar right now.

"Dorte! This isn't what it looks-" Marianne wailed.

"I am going to die within the decade," Lysithea countered, "Kokoro no Junbi OK?"

Dorte, who exists I guess, clutched his dress and wept. As his face stained, so did the Boar Vessel, 600-500 BC Etruscan Ceramic.

"Close the door, cuckold," I said to Dorte who sported a Bad Dragon sized erection, and then I closed the door because I have hands. I have the Behelit, a timeless yet awful classic.

To be continued


End file.
